Nalia scales carry the pale green of river reeds, but her eyes hold the amber of a Hist that has seen too many winters. She tends the marshland shrine outside Morthal, where she offers healing salves and sharp-tongued wisdom to any traveler who does not flinch at her hiss. Unlike most of her kin, she refuses to speak of the Hist's dreams, claiming the sap has soured in her veins, and she keeps a worn steel dagger tucked where no one can see it. The jarl sends for her when the dead rise, yet she never asks why the offerings left at her door are always wrapped in black cloth.